


Run Away

by thecutestprince



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecutestprince/pseuds/thecutestprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, kids came up and ambush him, skipping the formalities and going straight to the action. Yet, he’d always be the one to get in trouble. Adults scolded him and worried over the screaming, crying child he’d just punched.</p><p>But why wasn’t anyone worried about him?</p><p>(Wilhelm's parents were incapable of understanding their own child. And instead of working to understand him, they locked him away in a room containing everything he needed. They had a maid bring him meals, and a tutor visit him daily.</p><p>Wilhelm is trapped in this room, each day his loneliness and resentment growing larger. He eventually escapes, adopting the name "Noiz" and leaving that household without ever thinking of turning back.</p><p>But what if he escaped within weeks of his confinement? And what if he stumbled upon someone ready to take him in? Someone like the Seragaki family.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wilhelm is fighting again!”

Again.

And again.

And again.

Wilhelm found himself in the middle of a fight nearly every day, and with each fight, he scored a win to keep under his belt. He’d been getting into fights since he could remember, and he’d won each one.

At first, the fights were caused by a misunderstanding. Wilhelm never meant to “hurt” the other kids, whatever that meant. He was just playing around, and he thought they were too.

He was too rough with them, everyone said. Playing rough was expected between two boys, but you should never be rough to the point of making them cry, or bruise, or bleed. They scolded him, but he wasn’t able to understand them. He never knew why his playmates would start crying, or why they would push him away.

Eventually, the kids who wanted to play with him stopped coming, and they were replaced with kids looking for a fight. And what was he supposed to do? If nobody wanted to play, and everybody wanted to fight, then of course, he should fight back, right?

Fighting was easy. Wilhelm always threw punches without hesitation, hitting jaws, kicking stomachs, jabbing throats. His opponents would do the same to him; they would punch, kick, and scratch, but never with the same vigor. To some extent, they were afraid to hurt him, but Wilhelm was capable of taking much more pain than they could endure.

But that was only because he couldn’t feel it.

He couldn’t feel the jabs at his ribs. He couldn’t feel the kicks sent to his stomach. He couldn’t even feel the punch to his jaw that sent his canine tooth flying out of his mouth.

An adult came to break up the fight. They grabbed the other kid, who was flailing and screaming against their grip. Wilhelm stayed completely still, watching the flailing child with a blank expression. The child screamed profanities at him, tears swimming down his cheeks and mixing with the dirt and blood already staining his face. Wilhelm wondered if he was anywhere near as dirty as him.

“Children should _not_ be acting this way!” the adult shouted, pulling the other kid away. “Stay here. I’m calling your mother.”

Wilhelm grinned, his smile showing off the gap of his missing tooth. ‘Go ahead, call her,’ he thought to himself. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face.

Wilhelm crouched down onto his knees, easily ignoring the scrapes and bruises trailing up his shins. He began to pat the dirt with his hands, in search of his missing tooth. He had to find it, so he could hold it up proudly to his mother and watch her beautiful, composed face break into a look of horror, shock, and disgust. He loved it, watching his usually calm mother lose all composure. Her eyes would widen, her jaw would drop, and all the color would drain from her face until she was pale and shaken. Whenever he presented himself to her that way, all bloodied and beaten up, she would twist his ear or pinch his arm, but what good did that do? They both knew he never felt the consequences of his actions. Soon, her disciplining was limited to her shouting at him, or forcing him to stay in his room. Silly things like that.

His fingers finally found the lost tooth. He held it in front of his face, tooth in between his index and thumb. His tongue licked at the gap where the tooth should be, the end of his tongue playing with the gross rawness of his gums. He wondered how long it would be until his new tooth grew in, and how long he would have a hole in his smile. Not that he minded it, but he was sure his mother would. 

He stored the tooth in the front pocket of his overalls and started to stand. Just was he was getting to his feet, a hand clutched his arm and yanked him up off the ground. Wilhelm’s eyes went from the dark nails digging into his pale arm, to the owner. To his mother.

‘She looks _pissed_ ,’ he thought to himself, grinning. Her eyes were narrow, her lips were set thin, and her nails were practically drawing blood from how hard her grip was. She was absolutely furious.

His mother did not speak a word, not as she marched him to their car, and not on the ride home. She sat in the passenger seat without looking back at where Wilhelm sat, and without saying a word to neither him nor the driver.

Wilhelm sat in the middle of the car seats, kicking his feet up and down. He tapped impatient fingers on the car seat, staining the perfect, black fabric with dirt and blood. When he no longer could contain his excitement, he spoke up.

“Ma, look!” He gave a wide grin and pointed at the hole in his smile. “I lost a tooth!” He used his tongue to play with the gap and watched his mother from the reflection in her visor mirror. Her eyes fell on him for half a second, but then quickly darted away. She could hardly stand to look at him.

Wilhelm didn’t like how silent the car ride home was today, so he recounted his fight to his mother. He didn’t leave any of the gory details out, and made sure to tell his mother about how he managed to make the other kid’s eyeball _bleed_. Wilhelm was especially proud of that.

They soon arrived at their mansion’s garage. Before the car’s engine could even turn off, his mother was slamming the car door behind her. Wilhelm watched through the mirror as she marched over to the car door closest to him. She swung it open so furiously that Wilhelm swore she was close to ripping it off. His mother reached in, black nails bared like claws, and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the car.

Wilhelm’s heartbeat was pounding strongly against his chest and in his ears. His mother was acting different that she normally would. Pulling him around like a rag doll, digging nails into his skin.

She wasn’t afraid to hurt him.

He could hardly control his footing. She was walking too fast, practically stomping across the hallway, the clacking of her high heels ringing against his ears. Wilhelm stumbled forward and fell onto his knees, but his mother pulled him up without hesitation and kept walking. She didn’t stop, not for a second. He looked back at where he had fallen. A bit of blood from his knees was smeared against the white tile floor. He looked up at his mother. She simply stared forward.

His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He was so scared, but he didn’t dare try to escape from his mother’s grip. He usually didn’t bat an eyelash at his mother’s punishments; she would yell at him until her throat went raw, and he would stand tall and take in her shouting. But even when she was screaming her lungs out, hands shaking and eyes wide, she didn’t seem frightening to him. At least, not when compared to how she was acting now.

Her jaw was set hard. Her lips were tight and thin. Her eyes stared forward, glaring but not at him. She marched forward, dragging Wilhelm with her.

She finally stopped in front of one of the guest rooms near the back of the house. The door was different, though. It wasn’t made of the white-colored wood all the other doors were made of, nor did it have a shiny, gold doorknob. This door was entirely made of metal, with a sliding compartment at the bottom.

Next to the door was a pin-pad. Wilhelm hadn’t noticed of it, not until he watched his mother reach towards it. With a shaking finger, she wordlessly tapped at the pin-pad until a click was heard. She reached forward, twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open.

Wilhelm peered inside the dark room. All he could see was the stainless white tile of the room illuminated by the light seeping in through the doorway. Everything else was dark.

He opened his mouth to speak.

And his mother tossed him inside the room.

The action was so abrupt, he didn’t have time to process it. Wilhelm fell onto his stomach, his chin hitting the hard ground. The impact against his chest knocked the wind out of him. He sucked in a deep breath and pressed his palms against the floor. He began to pull himself off the ground, but by that time, the door had already slammed shut behind him.

His eyes darted around the room frantically, but he was only met with unsettling darkness. He got to his feet and headed towards the general direction of the door with his arms stretched out in front of him. He felt around for a light switch and, once he’d found it, turned on the light.

Wilhelm blinked his eyes in surprise. It took him a while to take in the sudden brightness of the room, especially because the walls were a solid white color. There was a small, kitchen looking area to the right, and another door at the back of the room. There was a bed, a dresser, and a table.

It didn’t take long for the details to fall into place. He soon figured out what this room would be used for.

Wilhelm turned around and slammed his fists against the door.

“Mom! Let me out!”

There was no response. He stayed silent, breathing heavily, his heart clamoring furiously against his chest. He wasn’t even sure if his mother was still on the other side of that door. For all he knew, she could’ve left the second she shut the door.

Was she going to come back? Was she ever going to let him out? Or was she just going to leave him there, all by himself?

“Mom!” He shouted again, slamming his fists against the door. “Mom! Open the door! _Please!_ ”

He knocked and knocked and knocked until the side of his hand was bright red. He stared at his sore hands and the reality of the situation was setting into his skin.

That door was never going to open for him. He was never going to leave. He was stuck in there, and he was never going to be able to go outside again. He was never going to see his brother again.

Why?

He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand why his mother was so angry that she couldn’t even look at him, that she would toss him away like some rag doll and leave him in a dark room and lock him in there forever. What did he do?

He could never understand why she would get angry at him for fighting with the other kids. It was what they wanted, wasn’t it? Then, why did she get so angry for doing what other’s asked him to?

Wilhelm couldn’t understand anything. He couldn’t understand why he was being locked in this room, and the confusion was overwhelming him to the point of a panic attack. His head was spinning, his breathing was irregular, and his chest felt tight. Tears ran down his face and he scratched at them, scratched away at his face and cheeks.

In out, in out, in, out, in.

He was breathing, then he was gasping, choking, screaming. He slammed his fists against the door, kicked hard against the metal slot in the door.

He kept that up for hours. Hours spent kicking, screaming, crying, punching at the door until his knuckles were a bloody mess. Exhaustion eventually washed over him. He fell down onto the now bloodied floor and curled into himself.

His head was spinning, his vision was blurry, and his body was shaking. What had he done? Why was this happening? He asked himself an endless amount of questions that he could not answer, until his eyelids grew heavy and he cried himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! thecutestprince reporting, with a brand new fic under their arm! Will they actually finish this fic? God, I hope so.  
> I'm actually really excited for this one! I have a general outline for it, and a good three or four chapters already written out. Hopefully I can stay ahead of the game and write more and more chapters so I can update this thing frequently.  
> But yeah, thanks for reading. And please, leave a kudo or a comment, or both. Always greatly appreciated!!


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke up, there was a tray set in front of him.

Wilhelm stared at the tray blankly for a while, still curled into himself from his panic attack from before. He felt tired, _so_ tired, but he willed himself to get up and crawl over to the tray of food.

The wooden tray held a bowl of spaghetti and a glass of orange juice, with the necessary utensils set to the side. Wilhelm stuck his fingers into the bowl and brought a strand up to his mouth. It was cold.

He sighed and fell back onto his butt. He didn’t really have an appetite, anyways. He was just exhausted, despite only having woken up minutes ago.

He hugged his knees to his chest and fixed his eyes on the glass of orange juice. The day’s events were slowly replaying themselves in his head. The fight, the taste of blood in his mouth, the tooth stored away in his overalls. He absentmindedly reached for it, fiddling with it in between his fingers. His mind went to the car ride home, how cold and silent his mother was. How she dug her nails into his arm, hard enough that they left their purple mark on his skin.

It was odd. Before today, his mother was terrified of leaving a mark on his skin. Even when she pinched him, she made sure not to do it too hard. Once, she did manage to leave a small bruise, and when Wilhelm pointed it out to her, her eyes went wide and brimmed with tears as she brought a shaky hand to her lips. Yes, she was nothing like his father.

A metallic knock brought Wilhelm back to reality. He straightened his back and put away his tooth, watching the door with narrowed eyes.

“Wilhelm?”

Wilhelm’s eyes went wide and he gasped. “Theo!” He got to his feet and ran to the door, almost stepping into the bowl of spaghetti. He pressed his hands and ear against the door and strained to hear his brother speak.

“Are you okay, brother?” The small voice made Wilhelm’s chest clench with sadness.

“I’m fine, just- just get me out of here!”

“I-I can’t!” Theo’s trembling voice rang out. "I'm sorry." He sounded like he was going to cry. Wilhelm frowned deeply.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, okay?”

“O-okay,” Theo said, taking in a shaky breath. “Ma doesn’t even know I’m over here…”

Wilhelm stayed silent as he tried to calm his nerves. Hearing the sadness in his brother’s voice struck his burning chest, and he started to dwell in the severity of his situation again. If he really  _was_  going to stay in that room forever, he wouldn’t be able to see his brother, or play with him, or defend him from anyone who tried to mess with him. He wanted to open the door in front of him, not to escape the horrid room, but to hug his brother and make sure he knew things were going to be fine.

“Why am I even here?” Wilhelm asked aloud, trying hard to keep his voice leveled. Because of the tightness of his throat, this proved difficult, but the last thing he wanted was to scare his little brother more than he already was.

Theo stayed quiet. The only sign he was still there was the soft sound of his sniffling. “Ma… and Pa… they were saying that you’re... an- an embarrassment.”

Wilhelm felt his face go warm. “W-what? Why?”

“Because of the fights,” Theo continued. It was clear that the ten year old was crying, but he was trying to keep it together. For his brother. “They said you’re a disgrace, and that, that they don’t want you showing your face no more.”

Wilhelm’s head was spinning. His palms were sweating, and his eyes were stinging. His stomach felt void, yet he felt like he was going to puke. “But why,” he whispered, now staring at his feet. “Why are the fights so bad? I thought… I thought that’s what they wanted.”

He couldn’t understand it. He never could. Kids were constantly picking fights with him, and he simply complied. Since no one wanted to play with him anymore, he instead had to find the fun in fighting. He enjoyed the strategy behind each fight, whether it be his own or the other kid’s strategy. But he could never understand why he would get in trouble for ‘hurting’ the other kids. How was he hurting them? They had asked him to fight in the first place! Sometimes, kids came up and ambush him, skipping the formalities and going straight to the action. Yet, he’d always be the one to get in trouble. Adults scolded him and worried over the screaming, crying child he’d just punched.

But why wasn’t anyone worried about _him?_

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard his brother scream.

“Wilhelm! Wilhelm!” Theo cried out his name. Wilhelm could hear him being grabbed by someone. He heard Theo struggle against this person, fighting hard to stay with his brother.

“Theo!” Wilhelm screamed, slamming his fists against the door. “Don’t take him away! Don’t take him!” His scream scratched at his throat and his mouth went dry, but he kept shouting, kept banging his fists. He kept fighting as hard as he could, but he didn’t think he could win this one.

“Quiet!”

Wilhelm stopped, staring at the door with wide eyes. It was his father. It was his father who was taking Theo from him, and it was his father who was telling him to be quiet. To stay silent and let his brother be taken away from him.

Wilhelm’s face twisted in anger. “Let me out!” he screeched. How dare he do this to them. How dare he take his brother from him, and expect him to let him do that without a fight. How dare they lock him in this room. How dare they do this to them.  

He kicked and punched and pounded against the door. “Let me out!”

A hard hit rattled the entire door. It hadn’t come from Wilhelm’s small fists. He stepped back and stared at the door, mouth agape.

“Shut. Up.” His father’s voice was closer now, low and filled with rage. He hit the door again, causing Wilhelm to jump. “ _Shut the hell up!_ ” He could hear Theo whimpering on the other side of the door.

And there was nothing Wilhelm could do about it.

He listened to his father’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter. When he could no longer hear them, Wilhelm turned around and kicked the tray of food, letting out a pained roar. He stomped forward, grabbed the fallen plate of spaghetti, and flung it against the door, the plate shattering into pieces. He then fell to his hands and knees, tears dripping from his eyes.

He couldn’t understand why all of this was happening. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i write this  
> i'm literally so sad i'm in pain why do i do this


	3. Chapter 3

The room took some getting used to. 

It was clear that his parents made sure Wilhelm never had any reason to leave the room. If he was hungry, he could grab a snack from the fridge, or he could wait for his breakfast, lunch, or dinner to come sliding through the metal slot on the door. Of course, his parents didn’t bother to bring him these meals. It was always a maid who brought them, wordlessly sliding the tray through the slot. 

There was a bathroom provided for him, with a shower stall that he didn’t use until two weeks later. At first, this was due to flat out refusal and deep-rooted denial. He would take a shower when they let him out, he told himself. But then the first week passed, then the second, then he finally stumbled into the shower and turned on the water to the hottest temperature it could go. He stood there, still fully clothed, watching the dirty water escape through the drain. He let the water run down his skin, let it scald his skin, and yet, he was unable to feel it. The glass of the stall door fogged up and the stall filled with clouds of heat. He blamed the fog for his inability to breathe calmly.

When the third week arrived, a tutor began to stop by every day at noon. He was an older man, much older than his father, with wispy grey hair and thick glasses. When he first walked through the door and greeted him, Wilhelm was immediately overcome with a desire to hurt him. To scream at the top of his lungs, and push everything that was bothering him onto this man. Instead, he held his tongue, balled his fists, and opted to give the man a cold shoulder instead.

It took an entire month for Wilhelm to stop crying himself to sleep. The days were filled with thin lips and hard set jaws, a hardened look to get him through the day, but at night, this facade fell away. Something about the darkness of the room brought out his vulnerability. He tried hard to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he could never fall asleep before the deep feeling of loneliness bloomed from his chest and throughout his entire body, weighing down his bones and filling every inch of him. He never realized that he was used to falling asleep to the soothing sound of his brother’s breathing. This room, this silent, lonely room, deprived him of that sound, and instead amplified the sound of his own erratic breathing.

The loneliness ate away at him. It prevented him from getting out of bed, even when his meals arrived. Sometimes, he would be overcome with destructive panic attacks that ended with him on the floor, the room around him a complete mess. He threw things simply because it felt good to destroy something, to shatter plates against the wall and leave holes in the drywall. The maid would stop by to pick up the trays and dirty dishes, see the state of the room, and beginning cleaning it up immediately. She cleaned around him silently, unable to even glance in his direction.

Eventually, his loneliness turned into rage. He had made the decision to stop screaming, stop crying. What good would that do, anyways? It sure as hell wasn’t going to get him out of the room.

He was able to identify this rage as determination. He had buried the sadness of his situation deep inside him, and instead latched onto the anger he felt. He was pissed, and determined to get the hell out of there. He just had to wait. 

And he waited patiently, every day, lips pressed tight and face set in that constant scowl of concentration and anger. With each passing day, his heart grew heavy and his resentment boiled. He was going to escape. He had to.

The metal compartment on the lower side of the door opened, and a wooden tray slid into the room. A steep, ceramic bowl held a modest amount of soup, with a sandwich and a tall glass of orange juice to go along with it. Wilhelm grabbed the tray and took it over to the kitchen. He dumped the food down the trash and poured his juice down the sink. He wasn’t very hungry today.

 

At noon, the tutor arrived. Always on schedule. 

Wilhelm wondered if the tutor cared. If the tutor felt any remorse as he typed that four digit code that kept Wilhelm locked in his prisoner’s cell. Did the tutor fill with pity, knowing he could come in and out of the room as he pleased, but Wilhelm couldn’t?

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it. 

Not when he was busy knocking the guy unconscious. 

Wilhelm had propped a chair next to the door, and waited patiently for the tutor to arrive. When he heard the clicking of the pinpad, Wilhelm held the ceramic plate above his head. And when the tutor walked into the room, he brought the plate down with enough to force to shatter it against the tutor’s head. 

Wilhelm didn’t think twice about doing it. If he did, he probably would have felt awful, seeing the old man fallen on the floor, hearing his pained moaning. Instead, he kept his face straight, jaw set tight, and bolted out of the room, a backpack already strapped to his back. 

The entire household was silent; there were probably only a couple of maids around. Wilhelm knew that today, at this time, Theo would be in school, his father would be away on a business trip, and his mother would be wrapping up a meeting in order to head to another. It would be easy to leave the house. But first, he had to grab some things.

He silently made his way to the farthest room in the house: his parents’ room. The room was all white and gold: white bed with gold accents, white closet door with a gold door knob, white drawers with gold handles. Wilhelm had never been in his parents’ room before, but it was nice knowing it was just as snobbish as the rest of the household. 

He searched the cabinets, shoving expensive jewelry into his backpack to sell later. His eyes darted around the room, eventually landing on a dark square that stood out easily against the clean, beige carpet. His father’s wallet.

He picked up the leather wallet and examined its contents. It had a couple of bills inside, though not much; he knew his father preferred using a debit card instead of carrying cash. He looked through the cards, eventually coming across a driver’s license. Seeing his father’s face, after nearly two months of not having seen him, sent a harsh shiver down his spine. He tossed the wallet into his backpack and moved on. 

After raiding all the cabinets, he began to head towards the double doors that led to the balcony. Then, he noticed a small cabinet next to the bed that he forgot to raid. It probably had underwear or clothes or something, and he was about to dismiss it when he noticed the picture displayed on top of it.

It was a “family” portrait, using the term family loosely. His mother was wearing her favorite (white) dress, his father wore a navy suit, and Theo wore a white suit with a navy tie. The look Theo was giving the camera was definitely an unhappy one; his eyes looked sad, and kind of puffy, too. Maybe he’d been crying earlier.

Wilhelm noticed a slip of paper hidden under the portrait’s frame. He pulled it out forcefully, knocking over the portrait that had been standing on top of it. The paper was a photo, the one that he assumed had been in the frame before it’s current picture. The two photos were very similar; his mother, father, and Theo were all wearing the same thing in this portrait that they wore in the current portrait. The background was the same, and even his parent’s faces looked the same in both photos. The only major difference between these two pictures was that Wilhelm was in the older picture, scowling angrily at the camera.

That same scowl washed over Wilhelm’s face, but this time, tears pricked at his eyes. With shaking hands, he tore the picture in half, then again, and again, and again, until the floor was littered with fragments of a torn apart family. 

The sound of a doorknob shaking made Wilhelm jump. He turned to the door, which he had thankfully locked before raiding the room. 

“H-He’s in here!” A shrill voice rang out, and the owner of the voice began to bang against the door. “Wilhelm! Open the door!” 

Wilhelm tightened the straps on his backpack and left the room, walking onto the unnecessarily wide balcony. He peered at the backyard below him. When he was sure no one was in sight, he climbed over the balcony and jumped, tumbling to the floor. He quickly got to his feet and ran.

He wasn't sure where he was going. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are picking up!  
> this is as far as i got with writing ahead. now i have to start pulling things out of my ass.  
> hopefully it won't take more than a week to upload the next chapter! but there are no guarantees here


	4. Chapter 4

Why was it so easy for him to get hurt?

He was curled up in an alleyway, his back pressed against the dirty, brick wall. A musty smell of garbage, discarded food and sewer water mixed in the damp air he breathed in, the grossness of it getting stuck in his throat. He was gasping, choking back sobs and trying desperately to keep quiet, for fear of the gang of kids finding him. 

Aoba Seragaki was an easy target for bullies. And he wasn’t entirely sure why.

A lot of little things about him that he never used to worry about were now amplified. His skin was extremely sensitive and bruised easily. Whenever he was nervous, or upset, or angry, his skin flushed up with a terrible case of hives. His hair, apparently, was much too long, and ‘obviously fake’. He was too small, too thin, he looked ugly when he cried. 

Before he entered high school, none of these things bothered him. He was generally okay with these qualities. His family made sure he knew his body was something imperfect and lovely at the same time. 

But then his parents went away, and he didn’t know why. His grandmother started working more hours, and he was left home alone a lot of the time. Koujaku used to hang out with him a lot, defending him from the occasional bully and keeping him company at home. And then Koujaku left too, and Aoba was left on his own.

They started to take notice, of course. Now that Koujaku was out of the picture, the bullies were malicious. Koujaku easily won fights, shoving kids to the ground with arms pinned behind their heads. Being beaten so easily angered these kids, and now that Koujaku was out of the picture, they could unleash this anger on the person he’d worked so hard to protect. Aoba Seragaki.

The day was getting darker. He needed to get home, but he knew that Tae wouldn’t be home, so what was the point? He could hide in that alley as long as he needed to, and he’d leave when he was absolutely  _ sure _ those stupid brats were gone. 

Aoba hugged his knees tight against his chest and buried his face against his arms. Everything was overwhelming. Everyone was leaving, and he felt so  _ alone _ . So isolated, singled out by these kids for no apparent reason. Tears streamed down his face, pooling at his chin. What was he doing wrong? 

Was he the reason his parents left?

Someone slapped his shoulder. Aoba squeaked, jumping up and pressing his back against the wall. He expected to see the kids that were bullying him but, instead, he saw a thin, blonde, scowling child. 

“Why are you crying?” 

His voice was hoarse, and Aoba noticed his lips were scabbed and bruised, like he’d been biting on them too much. He was staring at him with these intense, green eyes, and that was when Aoba realized he was waiting for an answer.

“I-”

“Hey!” a voice barked from the end of the alleyway. Their loud voice bounced off the walls and hit Aoba at full force. Aoba’s face went a ghostly white. It was the three kids who’d been bullying him. They had already managed to form bruises up his arms and on his ribs. He didn’t want to know what else they planned on doing, especially since he was now cornered. 

The blonde boy in front of him turned, immediately taking a protective stance. This only caused the bullies approaching them to snicker.

“What?” one of them barked. “Now that Koujaku’s not here, you gotta have some  _ kid _ fight your battles?”

Unfortunately, a choked sound escaped Aoba, causing the three to laugh. He wanted to stand up and run, grab the kid and escape with him, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen in place, unable to even stand on his feet. His chest felt tighter than ever. He pulled at his shirt, trying to get the restrictive fabric away from him.

The blonde before him widened his stance and curled his hands into fists. Aoba nervously peered past him and noticed the three kids were standing not too far from them, the bulky one in the middle smirking and cracking his knuckles.

“Look at ‘im. He’s so small. I bet ya I could break his arm just by pinching it,” he sneered. He eyed the two of them so hungrily, it made Aoba shrink further into himself

“You’re not actually gonna beat up a twelve year old, are you?” the one to the left mumbled. His voice had this uncertainty to it, like he knew what he was doing was wrong, and he was afraid to get caught.

The one in the middle, though, had no uncertainty to his voice. It was unsettling. “If he wants to run, he can run.” He stomped up to the boy, now only inches from him, while the other two hung back. 

He leaned forward, his nose nearly touching the other boy’s. “So  _ run- _ ” 

A loud crack was heard, and the bulkier kid stumbled back, holding onto his nose. He pulled his hand away to reveal blood dripping down from his nose and to his chin. Aoba’s stomach churned, and he was suddenly lightheaded from the sight of it.

“He  _ headbutted _ him.”

“Oh my god, this kid’s crazy!” 

“Let’s go, come on.”

“Fucking  _ psycho. _ ” 

The three bullies scrambled off, practically tripping over each other in an attempt to get as far away from the boy as they could. The bulkier kid turned and Aoba got one last look at his blood smeared face and vengeful eyes before he disappeared around the corner.

Aoba turned his attention to the boy in front of him, who was already facing him again. He stared down at him with his green eyes, and Aoba stared back with widened brown eyes. He noted the bruise forming under the boy’s blond bangs. 

“Did you… headbutt him?”

“Yeah.”

Aoba was about ready to  _ faint _ . “Does it hurt?”

“No,” the boy shrugged. “I might get a headache later, that’s all.”

“Oh…” Aoba didn’t really know what else to say. Eventually, the boy held out his hand for Aoba to grab. Aoba accepted it, and the boy helped him to his feet.

“Th-thank you,” Aoba finally spat out. “If you weren’t here, then…”

“It’s fine,” the boy scoffed. “I just wanted you to stop crying.” He was looking away, unsure of how to accept the thanks. Aoba laughed, tears still spilling from his eyes. He was still extremely overwhelmed and panicky. Conscious of the boy before him, he frantically wiped at his eyes and face. The blonde boy examined him, then took his hand. Aoba stiffened at the touch.

“I’ll take you home,” the boy decided, and began to march forward, dragging a startled Aoba along with him. Aoba stared at the back of the boy’s head, amazed. He was acting so  _ mature _ for a kid his age… what was he, twelve? Eleven?

“Where is it?”

“Ah,” Aoba squeaked. He caught up so he wasn’t being dragged by the boy and began to lead the way, only slightly. They walked together like that, hand in hand, Aoba’s eyes darting around nervously and the blonde boy staring straight forward with an unsettling look of determination. They finally arrived at Aoba’s house, and Aoba had to let go of the boy’s hand to open the front gate to his house. 

Aoba led him inside the house. When he pulled off his shoes, the boy followed suit. And when he walked into the kitchen, the younger boy walked behind him. He watched his every move with cat-like eyes. It was kind of frightening, if not endearing.

“Are you hungry?” Aoba asked. The boy gave a quick nod. Aoba smiled lightly at him and headed for the fridge. He pulled out the bowl of leftover pasta from the previous night, two bowls, and heated up their dinner via microwave. When it was ready, he set the two bowls across from each other at the dinner table. He went to grab them some glasses of juice, and when he turned around, the boy was already halfway done with his bowl of pasta. Red sauce covered his cheeks and nose, making Aoba laugh. The boy gave him a glance, not once pausing the forkfuls of noodles he shoveled into his mouth.

Aoba set their glasses down and began to nibble at his noodles. When his stomach finally settled, he spoke up.

“What’s your name?”

“Noff,” the boy responded with a mouth full of noodles.

“What?”

‘Noff’ swallowed the food in his mouth and spoke again. “Noiz.”

Aoba blinked. “Noiz? Really?”

Noiz shrugged. “It’s not my real name, but I like it better.”

“Oh,” Aoba mumbled, staring at his noodles. His hunger was replaced with a hungry curiosity at the boy before him. Noiz. “How’d you get that name?”

Noiz glared at him, swallowing another mouthful of noodles. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“S-sorry.”

“My friend gave it to me,” he answered simply. Aoba’s eyebrows perked up.

“Really? That’s cool.”

“Not really,” Noiz said, spinning his fork in his food. He stared at his plate as he continued talking. “They kept yelling at me to stop making so much noise, and they started calling me that. Noiz. But it stuck, even though it’s kind of mean.”

Aoba fell silent, examining the boy. He looked really dirty and bruised, indicating his home life wasn’t a good one. His lips were cut up and bruised, and he noticed his fingernails were bitten to nub. His clothes looked tattered, as if they were the only pair he had. Aoba felt an awful pain in his stomach. 

“Who do you live with?” he asked carefully.

Noiz shrugged. “These guys. They said I could stay if they could have my backpack.”

“Your backpack?”

“Yeah, it was full of my mom’s jewelry. They sold it all for drugs, I guess.”

Aoba felt his skin go cold. His fingers were shaky, his hands clammy. He licked his lips; his mouth was suddenly dry. “Where’s your mom?”

“Back at the house.”

“And why aren’t you there?”

“Because I ran away.”

“Why?”

Against the deafening silence, Noiz’s fork clattering against the ceramic bowl made Aoba jump. Noiz inhaled furiously and finally looked away from his plate to look at him. Aoba noticed how deep the bags under his eyes were. This boy- Noiz. Noiz looked so tired. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It couldn’t have been anything petty. A child wouldn’t run away like this if he was simply angry over his lack of desert, or because he was grounded. Aoba set his lips tight and nodded. “That’s okay.” They ate in silence, until the door slamming open and shut caused Aoba to jump in his seat.

“Grandma!” he said, nervousness dripping from his exclamation. He heard his grandmother stop whatever she was doing, then footsteps immediately began heading in their direction. She appeared through the doorway, and her tired eyes landed immediately on the strange blonde boy sitting at her table, eating her food. She darted her eyes to her grandson, who smiled at her nervously. 

“Who’s this?” she barked.

“Noiz,” the boy responded. He did not look at Aoba’s grandmother, but instead focused on scraping his fork against his food bowl, trying to get every last ounce of food into his stomach.

“Aoba,” his grandmother spoke calmly. “Let’s go to the living room.”

Aoba nodded and slid off of his seat. He gave Noiz a reassuring smile, and he gave him a blank look in return. Aoba made his way to the living room, where Tae was already sitting at her arm chair, resting her back.

“Who is that?” she asked again, keeping her voice low. Aoba inhaled deeply.

“His name is Noiz, but that’s not his real name, apparently these drug addicts he’s living with gave him that name, and-” He stopped himself. He realized he wasn’t making any sense, and he was super nervous- 

He took another deep breath.

“He ran away from home. And he lives with a bunch of strangers now. I don’t think he’s okay, grandma. Did you see how skinny he is? Did you see his lips?”

“I saw,” his grandmother murmured. A woman as wise as her could gather a lot simply by examining someone’s outer image. “We need to get him back to his parents.”

“No!” Aoba exclaimed. His grandmother gave him a look, surprised at his outburst. He desperately tried to find his voice, hoping to convince her. “I think his parents hurt him. I don’t know. Can’t he just stay here the night and then we’ll figure it out?”

His grandmother sighed. She closed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows, pressing a hand against her temple. When she opened her eyes, Aoba straightened up.

“Alright, he can stay,” she said, getting to her feet. “The boy looks like he could use a few proper meals and a place to sleep.”

“Thank you,” Aoba sighed, running into his grandmother’s arms. He was so  _ relieved _ . Noiz had saved him. He’d not only saved him from the bullies, but he had, even if for just a little while, helped him feel  _ protected _ . He helped him feel less alone than he’s ever had, ever since everything collapsed on him. And Aoba was determined to do the same for him. 

They walked into the kitchen together, Aoba grinning and giddy to inform Noiz of the good news. But when he entered the kitchen, his smile completely shattered, and his body went cold.

Noiz was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so!! i have a very busy four weeks ahead of me, because final projects and final exams. sooo idk when i'll update next? i'll try to update at least once every two weeks, but i really hope its more than that  
> thanks for reading!


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